


The Root of Compassion

by Greyias



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Best Combo Ever, Drunk Jedi and Spy Chaperones, Drunkenness, F/M, Pre-Relationship, Shadow of Revan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-06 22:59:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16842157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greyias/pseuds/Greyias
Summary: Honestly this is just an excuse to disguise some headcanoning as fic (as well as give a shortcut background on character stuff I haven’t had time to write up).





	The Root of Compassion

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly this is just an excuse to disguise some headcanoning as fic (as well as give a shortcut background on character stuff I haven’t had time to write up).

“You can’t have compassion without a little bit of passion.”

Of every answer to his question Theron Shan had been expecting, that one had never even entered his mind. She says it in a low, conspiratorial whisper, as if she knows she’s saying something sacrilegious. He wonders briefly if this is coming from the influence of all of the alcohol she’s consumed this evening, but there’s something about the glint in her eye, the way the freckles on her cheeks seem to stand out as she flashes him with a brilliant smile that lets him know this isn’t a drunken rambling. She’s just sharing some sort of deep, personal secret with him.

“That’s not a line of the Jedi Code,” he says slowly after a moment, readjusting his grip around her waist as she leans further into him. Okay, she’s definitely _drunk_ , but that’s not what’s really in question. 

“It’s not _officially_ in the Code, but it’s implied.”

He can’t see how Greyias Highwind—the primmest, most perfect little Jedi he’s ever met in his entire life—could be spewing something bordering on heresy to the Order they both grew up in. It’s been almost twenty years since he had to recite the Code for Ngani Zho, but Theron still remembers that it’s pretty darn specific about there being _no_ passion. The inclusion of that is from the first line from a _different_ code altogether.

“A Jedi’s actions should always be rooted in compassion for other beings, because we’re all connected through the Force,” she slurs.

“Yeah, okay. Sure.” He’s got nothing for that.

“It’s true!” Her voice rises with her, admittedly, _passionate_ insistence on this particular point. “Jedi are protectors of the weak and innocent.” Yeah. Right. “But to want to protect others you need to have empathy, understand what they’re going through. And empathy requires _feeling_. Compassion. Follow me?”

“I’ll say ‘yes’ for the sake of argument.”

“And the root of the word ‘compassion’ is ‘passion’. Ergo, you must have _some_ passion in order to be a proper Jedi.“

The stars light the sky above them, a million glittering jewels in a blanket of blue and purple, illuminating their circuitous path through Raider’s Cove back towards the warehouse. He nearly stumbles as she leans into him, cheek pressing into his shoulder. It would almost be romantic, except for the undeniable fact that was _never_ happening.

“Who exactly taught you this bizarre linguistic lesson?”

Her hand flails wildly, nearly cuffing him on the ear as she tries to tap the side of her head knowingly. “I heard it from a very wise Jedi Master.”

* * *

_He doesn’t realize then that she’s referring to the Jedi that raised her, Thyos Dae. He might not have snorted quite as derisively at the time if he’d realized those words of wisdom had been passed from Master to a nearly inconsolable Padawan. He definitely wouldn’t have laughed had he known the phrase was meant to comfort an orphaned little girl, convinced she was a failure of a Jedi because she couldn’t stop crying over a crushed nest of flutterplume eggs that reminded her of her own shattered family._

* * *

“And where did this wise person hear it from?” Theron asks instead.

She’s quiet for a moment, her fingers finding purchase on his jacket as she leans in further. He can’t completely ignore the fact that there’s a part of him that likes the feeling of her weight against him.

“He said _he_ had been taught that by a very wise Jedi Master.”

* * *

_  
Grey never does think to ask Thyos Dae when they reunite many, many years later exactly who he’d learned those words of wisdom from. Never finds out that he had heard it during his last few years as a Padawan from his own newly appointed Master, Vainas Highwind. Or that it had been said with a wink and a grin suspiciously familiar to the one that Theron had just been graced with, as Vainas explained to her frustrated charge why she stood up for the prisoners of war being mistreated at the hands of a bitter Republic colonel. She’d said it many times after that, but the first time was what had stuck with him._

_Vainas had never really explained to her straight-laced Padawan the true origin of the phrase she liked to quote when he was being stubborn. The closest answer that Thyos had ever gotten to that eternal mystery is that it had come from a lesson on a Jedi’s responsibility. He’d always assumed that she was passing on the words of her own Master as part of some grand oral Jedi tradition. Wisdom passed down from generation to generation. Jedi didn’t have families like everyone else — but they did have connections. And those mattered.  
_

* * *

  
“That’s a whole lot of ‘wisdom’ passed down by some suspiciously unnamed Jedi,” Theron says.

“ _You_ were the one who asked why I do what I do,” she counters.

“I asked why you like to argue with me about missions,” he shoots back.

“I only argue with you when you’re wrong,” she insists.

“And when I have I been wrong?”

“The time you suggested I slaughter innocent bystanders on Rakata Prime!”

“Those cyborgs tried to kill you two seconds after you walked into that room! They weren’t exactly innocent nor bystanders!”

“I had to give them the chance to make that decision for themselves,” she insists.

“You’re a little daft, you know that, right?”

Theron realizes this conversation has come full circle, back to where this nonsensical path down perverted Jedi philosophy had begun. And he really shouldn’t care that much about it, as he’s never exactly been a gatekeeper or paragon of Jedi virtues. Kind of hard to be when he’d been drummed out at an early age. And he doesn’t care about the Code. Not really. At least not in the way that the religious fanatics among the Order do. He just cares about being the kind of person that his own master, Ngani Zho, would have been proud of. Jedi or not.

The problem is that Theron always had a hard time pinning down exactly where Master Zho landed on things. Especially when it came to Jedi philosophy.

* * *

_  
The truth of the matter is that the credo was an accident._

_The words had slipped out of Vainas, almost of their own accord as a guest lecturer spoke to her creche about the importance of the Jedi Code. Her fellow creche mates froze, almost comically, in stunned horror as she gave voice to the complete contradiction that she saw in practice. If there was no emotion, how could there be compassion? If there was no compassion, how could one truly be connected to those around them? Know their pain and want to help them? And if there was no connection to those around them, when did the Force come in? And without the Force, were you truly a Jedi?  
_

_If she had said it to their normal teacher, she would have earned at_ **_least_ ** _an extra hour of meditation for her impudence. But Ngani Zho was a different sort of Jedi, and his eyes just crinkled as he gave a sharp laugh and commented about how wonderful the mind of a child was._

_Vainas decided that was probably a roundabout way of saying that he agreed with her. And if a Jedi Knight agreed with her, who was she to argue with them?  
_

* * *

  
“It’s not daft to want to do the right thing.” Grey’s words are muffled by how much her head is buried into his shoulder at this point.

Theron is confused by his own conflicted reaction to this. Part of him wants to roll his eyes because this entire situation is ridiculous, but there’s a deeper, primal feeling rising up in his gut that he’s desperately trying to ignore. And that’s much easier to do if he goes on the offensive.

“It is if it gets you killed.” She gives a little titter at that, the sound reverberating against his collar bone even as it is muffled by the leatheris of his jacket. “Not sure why you’re laughing.”

Well, other than the fact that she’s three sheets to the wind. He could probably tell her a math problem right now and she’d think the answer was the punchline to a bad joke. He’s almost tempted to, other than the fact that _one_ of them has to have enough wherewithal to not get mugged between here and the safehouse.

“You’re a good man, Theron Shan.”

“And that’s _funny_?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because you agree with me,” she says, the last couple of words nearly slurring together. He’s also very confused because she’s somehow gotten at least ten kilos heavier in the past minute.

“Pretty sure that I didn’t.”

“Yes, you do,” she sings softly. Stars, she is _so_ drunk. The hangover the next morning is surely going to be just as memorable as this odd conversation. “You care just as much about everyone around you, admit it.”

“No.”

“You just said you didn’t want to see me die.”

“That is _not_ agreeing with you, woman! It’s just common decency.” Theron sighs, rolling his eyes up the stars twinkling far above them. “Why am I arguing with a drunk Jedi?”

“Not arguing, agreeing,” she corrects him.

Part of him wants to belabor the point on principle, but it’s obviously useless. She just keeps getting louder each time he tries to bring logic back into this increasingly illogical debate. There’s a small part of him that realizes how incredibly ludicrous it is that _he_ is the rational one right now, but he ignores that too. There’s only so much self-actualization he can handle in one evening.

“Sure, why not?” he sighs. “We’re in total agreement. About something. Whatever that is.”

“About compassion,” she reminds him sagely. Or at least, he’s pretty sure that’s her intent, it’s just sort of a jumbled slur of words at this point. “And Jedi being empathetic and feeling what others are going through.”

“You should tell my mother that.”

“Maybe I will!” She says it like its a challenge, face scrunching up into an inscrutable expression. Possibly it’s her fierce face. Or maybe just drunken belligerence setting in.

Either way, it gets an actual, genuine laugh out of him, one that’s probably a little too loud. It’s fairly clear that alcohol has removed the many, many filters that she usually has in place, and Theron realizes with a start that he _likes_ seeing the person underneath all of that. Maybe a little more than he’s willing to admit to himself.

“We still have an entire cult of crazed fanatics to contend with, remember? Maybe we should deal with them before taking on the entire Jedi Council with your dazzling wisdom.”

“I suppose that would be wise,” she relents. “But you still agree with me, don’t you?”

“Without a doubt,” he says without missing a beat, “you are the most passionately compassionate Jedi I’ve ever met.”


End file.
